Someone Like You
by xXBeyondBirthdayXx
Summary: Kyle's the one thing that everyone has in common. No matter who you were, you were friends with Kyle." Kyle dies and life changes drastically in South Park. Multiple pairings, gay, lesbian, and straight. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**I got this idea after reading **_**Someone Like You**_** by Sarah Dessen. But mind you, the ONLY similarity between this fanfiction and **_**Someone Like You**_** is the idea of someone who connected everyone together dying, and the title. I love that title, and Sarah Dessen's book isn't the only thing called by that title. Also, this is a multi-chapter fanfiction, told in Wendy's Point-of-view. There **_**will**_** be gay, lesbian, and straight couples throughout the story. If you don't like it, don't read it, simple as that.**

**And to see what the characters look like in this fic, visit this link (replace all the **(dot)** with an actual period):**

**http://s986**(dot)**photobucket**(dot)**com/albums/ae348/CraigFxckerrxx/Someone%20Like%20You/**

**It will be updated as more characters come in.**

**~.::.~**

_So live like you mean it_

_Love 'til you feel it_

_It's all that we need in our lives_

It was 11:35 when Stan called me.

"Stan?" I said groggily. "It's the middle of the night."

"Wendy..." Stan's voice was just a shaky whisper. "It's Kyle."

"What?" I sat up almost immediatly, feeling like I was going to throw up. "What happened with Kyle?"

"K-kyle... Kyle's dead."

**~.::.~**

I was down the street and knocking on Stan's door in a heartbeat. My stomach was in knots, and my eyes were stinging but I was too shocked to cry. I ran my fingers through my bangs, but I was suddenly too weak to move.

The door opened, revealing my best friend, Stan Marsh. His long, choppy black hair that usually frames his face to make him look so beyond gorgeous was messy, his chrystal blue eyes were red from sobbing. He came outside, walking past me and sitting on his porch swing. I sat right beside him.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Stan rested his head on my shoulder, his body shaking from the muffled crying. The golden band on his finger caught the moonlight, and just seeing the word 'Forever' imbedded in it made my eyes tear.

Stan sat up, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, his breathing still short and shakey. "Me and K-kyle..." He whispered. "We were going to get married, ya' know..."

I didn't say anything. I knew he was going to continue.

"This ring..." He held up his hand, pointing to the golden ring on his third finger and sniffling. "It's an engagement ring. He proposed two days ago... hell, we were even going to prom together..."

"That's so sweet." I said, my lips twitching back into a small smile.

Stan touched his fingertips to his lips, licking his lips. "I wish I could just kiss him once last time..."

Stan sighed again, and even in the dark, I could see the tears rolling down his face, his fingers still touching his lips, hoping for one last taste of Kyle Broflovski.

**~.::.~**

I woke up the next morning in my own bed, my cheeks tear-stained for some reason. I looked around my room. Walls still purple, those same Jack's Mannequin and Mayday Parade posters on my walls. That same corkboard tacked with tons of photos hanging proudly over my vanity.

I got up, admiring the photos, looking over each memory I captured until my eyes stopped on one photo.

It was a picture I took two weeks ago, on a rare hot day in February. It was a picture of Stan and Kyle, taken at Stark's Pond. The sun was giving the photo a sort of holga-vintage look, with the lake shimmering behind them. Stan was smiling, his arm wrapped around Kyle's waist, both of them wearing white t-shirts. Kyle wasn't looking at the camera; he was looking at Stan. His bright green eyes were staring right at Stan, a big smile on his lips, his silky, orange curls shining. Just the _look_ on Kyle's face could move you to tears. The look of pure love, the look that makes you think they were the only two people on the planet. The way Kyle was looking at him... I've never seen _anyone_ look at someone that way in my entire sixteen years of life.

I pressed my lips together, wondering if I had ever given Stan and Kyle a copy. I grabbed it anyway. I turned way from the board, walking over to my dresser and throwing on skinny jeans and a tye-dye t-shirt. I walked over to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and brushing out my long, black hair. I went down the stairs, two at a time.

"Oh, honey..." My parents came at me, immediatly hugging me.

"What?" I asked.

My family and I aren't the huggy-huggy-kissy-goo-goo type of All-American family you always see on sitcoms. My father is a college professor at the Denver college, and my mother is a famous romantic novel author. She's always making appearences on T.V. shows and what-not, and my relationship with my parents is strictly academic. So the fact that they called me something other than 'Wendy' and are hugging me is pretty weird.

"We just heard about Kyle." My mom said.

Then it hit me. Last night wasn't a dream. Kyle is dead.

My breath caught it my throat, and my body went rigid. My eyes were stinging and I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. Kyle is dead.

"We're so sorry, honey..." My dad smoothed my hair. "We know how much you loved that boy."

"We're just friends," I choke out. "I mean, we... we were..."

My parents always thought Kyle and I had a thing for each other because I'd always hang out with him and Stan. The truth is that Stan and Kyle have been together since the eigth grade. They were just too scared to tell everyone. We had become closer over the years after Kenny abandoned Stan and Bebe abandoned me. The only thing connecting us, connecting _everyone_ was Kyle Broflovski.

Kyle was the one thing everyone had in common. It didn't matter who you were or what you did, you were friends with Kyle. There wasn't one person who didn't like Kyle. Except for Cartman, but he doesn't like _anyone_. Kyle connected everyone together. There was this one time last year at the eleventh grade dance where they were announcing Ice Ball King and Queen nominees. The whole grade was there, clapping or booing when someone's name was called. When Kyle's name was called, the whole gymnasium errupted in clapping and cheering. Kyle had walked on stage, beet red, people cheering even louder.

I stood there, gasping for air as my parents explained that his funeral was later today, and to get ready.

While I was back in my room, slipping on a black ruffly dress that fell two inches above my knees and black heels, I turned on the T.V. just as the news came on, an accident video playing behind the broad-caster, Kyle's face in the little box on the top right-hand corner.

"Sixteen year old Kyle Broflovski died minutes after impact after colliding with friend Kenny McCormick's car late Friday night. McCormick suffered minor injuries. Tune in at eleven for the full story."

I turned away from the T.V., blocking out the anchor woman's voice and focusing on brushing out my hair. I didn't put on any make-up; my tears would smear it anyway.

"Wendy!" I heard my mom call up the stairs.

I looked again in the mirror before going downstairs, arms crossed, ignoring my parents as I got in the backseat of our Acura.

Kyle is dead. Even though I saw the accident on T.V. and heard it from Stan, I was hoping Kyle would jump up and yell 'Gotcha!' and we'd all laugh. I was scared, too. I _never_ dealt with death, especially not someone that was so important to me. I was closer to Kyle than anyone in my family.

We got to the church, and I saw cars parked down the block and a lot of people walking inside.

I waited until my dad stopped for me to get out, waving them off. I swallowed the lump in my throat, walking up the steps. I pushed open the large doors, and I literally gasped when I saw how many people were there. The seats were packed, with everyone who didn't have a seat standing. The isle was cleared, and I squeezed people, craning my neck to look for Stan.

I found him almost immediatly. He was sitting in the front booth with the Broflovskis, the only booth _not_ packed. As I walk toward him, I noticed _everyone_ in my small high school is here. Everyone. Kyle, like I said, is the one thing everyone has in common.

Mrs. Broflovski saw me before Stan did.

"Oh Wendy, dahling!' She bulbbered, choking me in a death grip-hug.

I hugged back. Mrs. Broflovski is like my second mom. I can't even count all the nights I spent the night at her house with Kyle and Stan, how many times she'd pick me up and drop me off for whatever it was over the years, even if was just picking me up from the mall because my mother was off in Los Angeles.

Mr. Broflovski finally pulled her off, sitting her at the end of the row. I slid in next to Stan.

"Hey." I said.

Stan looked up at me. His eyes were all puffy and red from crying.

"Hey," he said weakly.

"You okay?" I asked.

Before Stan could answer, Ike flew across the row and landed in my lap. I wrapped my arms around him in a hug almost by instinct. Ike is basically _my_ little brother. Ike is really small for a thirteen year old, so I could practically wrap my arms around him twice. He sobbed into my collar bone.

"I miss Kyle!" He wailed.

I didn't say anything, I just pet his silky black hair. I looked around at who was here. I spotted Bebe sobbing between Red and Millie. Bebe's _always_ been heels over head for Kyle, even went with him to some school dances while I went with Stan. Of course, she didn't know he was gay. I'm the only person who knows about Stan and Kyle.

Near the back, I saw Kenny McCormick. He was wearing a big black hoodie, and I almost didn't recognize it was him. His hood was up, and he was looking down, arms crossed. His dirty blonde shaggy choppy hair was covering his eyes, but even then I could tell he was crying.

Kenny had faed away from Stan the same way Bebe faded away from me. He started hanging out with Clyde, Damien, and Christophe more. Him and Stan faded, be always stayed close friends with Kyle. He'd sometimes sit at our lunch table just for Kyle. Kenny's a nice guy, he didn't ignore Stan and I, but he'd mostly talk to Kyle.

The funeral started, but my mind was elsewhere. I was making up little scenerios in my head where the doors would open, Kyle standing there. He'd smile that one-thousand watt smile of his, and everything would be alright.

I came back to reality when people were going up to say some things about Kyle. I saw a short, low-cut black dress and a head of blonde hair, and I knew it was Bebe.

She stood up in front of everyone, chrystal blue eyes crying rivers, red lips pursed, and began.

"I've known Kyle since third grade when our teacher assigned us to work together. From the second I laid eyes on his ass, I knew we had to be together. I even lost my first kiss to him during Truth or Dare. I've always loved him, and I'm happy to say I was able to call him my date on multiple occasions. I love Kyle Broflovski, may he rest in peace."

People clapped, and Bebe walked back to her seat. I smiled at her, but she barely even glanced my way.

I'm not a good public speaker. Hard to believe, since I'm the Class President, and have been so since third grade. Now, of course, I'm head of Student Council, but whatever. I'm a pen and paper kind of girl. I choke if my speech isn't pre-prepared. I highly doubt I'd be able to gup there and not burst into tears or choke and stutter like crazy. Plus, Ike is firmly planted in my lap. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.

After a bunch more people, I was shocked to see Stan up there, hands in his pockets.

He cleared his throat. "Kyle's my best friend. Ever since we met in pre-k, we've been Super Best Friends. We've been together through everything. Hell, I even went to Hell and back to get him a kidney. But... Kyle wasn't just my best friend."

I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was finally coming out. I was worried, already knowing everyone was expecting a whole 'he was a brother to me' speech to pass through Stan's lips, and Stan and I are the only people in this whole chapel who know what's he really going to say.

Stan licked his lips nervously. "Kyle was more than that. Kyle was my boyfriend."

Shocked gasps and hushed murmuring fell over everyone. I glanced to my right to see Mrs. Broflovski's eyes bulging out of her head, her jaw dropped. Mr. Broflovski wore the same expression.

"To be exact... Kyle was my fiancee." Stan held up his hand for proof, the 'Forever' ring on his ring finger. "We've been together since the eigth grade. We were always afraid to tell anyone; we were scared that we'd be seperated. I've never felt the same way around anyone than I have Kyle. He made me feel... God, words can't describe how I felt. When he kissed me, I got everything you're supposed to get when you kiss someone. My head was spinning, sparks shot up my body, and my knees went all jelloid, and butterflies errupted in my stomach. I was on Cloud Nine when he held my hand, and I honestly stopped breathing if he even _looked_ at me.

"We got together on December twenty-fourth in eigth grade. It was at Token's Christmas party, and we were walking home afterwards. I had Kyle walk me home, and when we got to my doorstep, we both looked up to see a mistletoe hanging over us. Kyle's face turned beat red, and he leaned in and kissed me. Fireworks went off, and as soon as he pulled away... I threw up."

There was a murmur of chuckling, even from myself. That's something Stan's famous for. If he _like_-likes someone, he throws up on them. I should know, I spent a majority of my childhood washing Stan's sick out of my hair.

"When I threw up on him, I knew I liked him. He didn't even get mad or anything; he smiled and said 'I have the cutest boyfriend'. I nearly threw-up again, knowing Kyle felt the same way about me. He gave me a little kiss on the mouth and left after that. We've been together since then."

Stan sighed, his breath coming out all shaky. He chewed his lip nervously, blinking a couple times at an attempt to hold back his tears. He was failing.

"I don't think I can ever love anyone as much as I love Kyle Broflovski."

Stan walked back down to our row, sliding in next to me. The Broflovskis stared at him in utter shock, and as I looked around, I noticed people were whispering to each other and starting at Stan.I spotted Bebe wedged between Red and Milly, her cherry red lips a perfect 'o', her face bright red. It must be hard finding out the guy you've been in love with for nine years is gay. I felt bad for her, but there isn't much I can do now. I'm pretty sure she hates me.

After a bit more, it was time to go. I wouldn't have noticed if Stan hadn't pulled me up, Ike apparently long-gone off my lap.

We started sliding out of the row, but were interrupted by the Broflovskis.

"Stan, come here for a second." Sheila said.

"Oh shit." Stan mumbled to me, flipping his bangs out of his eyes.

I smiled at him, and he took a deep breath as he made his way to Kyle's parents. Ike wasn't with them.

I knew what they were saying was probably none of my buisness, but I strained to listen. I could only make out bits and pieces here and there. I made out 'love, 'tell us', 'upset', and 'sex'. Mrs. Broflovski's face was red as Stan said something, her eyes tearing. Mr. Broflovski was standing beside her with his arms crossed, his face holding no expression. Stan had his back to me, but I could tell he was wiping his eyes.

I sighed, glancing around to see if anyone was still here. I saw basically no one, the last of them exiting the church. I noticed the Goth kids leaving, but one of them was missing. The tall one.

I saw him standing in the back corner of the church, closest to the door. He was leaning against the wall in his usual black Tripp pants and combat boots. His white muscle shirt was delicately clinging to his skinny, frail body, with his long black trench coat over it. His jaw was set, his long curly black hair lining his face perfectly to where he looked like Andy Sixx but with dark curls. Even though his bangs were almost covering his eyes, I could tell he was staring at me.

I stared right back at him, my blue eyes meeting his dark ones. He pressed his lips together, his gaze lingering on me for a few more seconds before starting out the door, not once looking back.

I looked back at Stan and at Kyle's parents, and I saw that Mrs. Broflovski was clearly angry. I quickly opened my purse, taking out the picture of Stan and Kyle and marching over to them.

"Wendy-doll, now is not the time." Sheila sighed, exasperated.

"Just listen." I tried. "I know you're angry that Kyle was gay-"

"Damn right I'm mad!" She was _fuming_.

I took a deep breath before extending my arm out to show her the picture.

"Mrs. Broflovski, just look at this picture," I pressured. "Look at the look on Kyle's face. He was absolutely _in love_ with Stan. I don't know about you, but I've never seen anyone _ever_ look at someone like that."

Sheila snatched the photo from my hand, bringing it up to her face to examine it. The redness in her face started fading away, and she sighed. I exchanged glances with Stan, both of us nervous.

Mrs. Broflovski handed me the picture back, and without so much of a glance in our direction, stormed out of the church along with Mr. Broflovski and Ike, who appeared from nowhere.

Stan sighed, licking his lips. "Well that went well."

"She'll come around," I assured him.

I bit my lip, looking down at the picture in my hands. This was taken only two weeks ago. It amazed me how one second could alter fate completely. That one second delay of trying to push the breaks is what cost Kyle his life. If he had seen the car one second earlier, none of this would be happening. Kyle would still be alive.

"Stan?" He looked up at me when I said this.

"Yeah, Wends?" He asked as we started walking out towards the door.

"Here." I said, handing him the picture. "I want you to have it."

Stan took it from me, looking down at it and smiling a small, sad smile. He put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Thanks."

I just nodded in response, and as we walked outside, I noticed it was raining. Not that cold, dark winter rain, but a nice, warm spring rain. It seemed so fitting, just coming out of a funeral to rain. It smelled like... earth, I guess, after rain. That soil-esque smell that you can't hate.

"Hey, Stan?" We both whipped our heads to see Kenny coming towards us.

Kenny stopped in front of Stan, sighing. His dirty blonde hair was wet and sticking to his face, his bright blue eyes alert. Kenny, I have to admit, is gorgeous. He was wearing black skinny jeans with his usual beat-up converse, and a black hoodie.

"... Hi." Stan nodded.

"I'm sorry." Kenny pressed his lips together. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't been driving so fast, this would've never happened and Kyle would still... fuck, man, I'm sorry."

Stan's face went blank, his body rigid. "What's done is done. I'm sorry doesn't fix _shit_, McCormick. Stop being nice to me, you don't like me, I don't like you."

Stan started walking away angrily, and I debated whether I should go after him, but Kenny grabbed my hand.

"Wendy," He said.

"Yeah?"

"Please just tell him... I don't even fucking know, he hates me and he's never going to forgive me for this." Kenny wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"He'll come around." I said to him, the same words I said to Stan earlier.

"I hope." Kenny whispered, then he smiled slightly at me before turning on his heel and walking away.

The rain was coming down harder now, and I took off my heels, putting them in my purse, ignoring my cell phone that was ringing repeatedly with my parents calling for my pick-up. I had this heavyness in my heart, the kind you're supposed to get at a funeral. But as I walked down the steps, beginning my long walk home, it started fluttering away. I looked over my shoulder for a brief second, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Kyle standing there. I looked again, and he was gone. Maybe, just maybe, Kyle has something in store for us all.

**There's chapter one. The ending sort of bothers me, I don't like it much XD But please review, and chapter two will be coming out sometime!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is overdue x.x!**

**I apologize for the lateness of this, BUT the story must go on! So, you know what songs really remind me of this story? The songs:**

**Keeping on Without You - **

**Tonight - FM Static**

**Both sort of told in Stan's perspective of Kyle's death and shizz. Anyway, let me stop my rambling and continue.**

_I'll tell you one thing_

_We made history_

_You and me_

_You're getting closer now_

_It's getting better now_

_But you're still so far gone_

For the next week, Stan and I were avoided like a plague. People would stare after us in the hallways and whisper behind our backs. Even _Cartman_ didn't say anything to us. That says something about this whole thing. I was expecting Kenny to try and apologize to Stan again, but he was gone all week. It didn't surprise me, Kenny is one of those kinds of people, the kind that just disappears and comes back. Sometimes, I could hear the steady hum of his car's engine as he drove by my street, early morning or late at night, to wherever it is that he goes.

The second I had returned from the funeral, my parents dropped their 'loving parents' facade, looking at me disapprovingl, ordering me to put on dry clothes. I went back into my shell, into being the perfect daughter. I didn't dare shed a tear; I haven't cried since I was nine. Perfect daughters don't cry.

"Wendy." I shut my locker in time to see my best friend, Rebecca Cotswolds, standing there.

Rebecca used to be homeschooled. She was my academic rival when she first arrived in seventh grade, but we became friends after an incident in gym class where we were both the last two girls left in dodgeball against a team of guys.

"Hey, Rebecca." I said, hugging my books to my chest. I glanced at the clock. I had two minutes to get to class.

"I'm sorry about Kyle." She stated, playing with the end of her long curly brown hair. She never has emotion in her voice or face, so it's hard to tell what she's feeling or thinking. "He was a friend of mine, too. I apologize for not speaking to you sooner, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"Thanks." I smiled at her, dismissing myself politely and stepping around her to continue to my art class, one of the only classes I actually enjoy.

As I walked up the stairs, I noticed that I was still being avoided. I would walk past someone, they'd fake a smile at me, and the moment I was a step ahead of them, I'd hear whispers behind me. It was beginning to be easier to ignore it, but it still gave me that constant, blaring reminder that Kyle's gone.

I turned into my art class, into the familiar paint splattered walls and messy tables covered in a rainbow of pant, marker, and colored pencil. The smell a familiar mix of paint and cherry cordials. Art was like my escape from grades and tests, and when I was in that class, it was like I was escaping the life of Wendy Testaburger, top student, and to just be Wendy Testaburger, person. The art room is where I would escape to during free period, and even after school when I just had enough of keeping up this perfect image I sculpted over the years.

"Wendy, hello!" I saw our art teacher, Kitty, sitting on her desk cross-legged.

Kitty is one of the coolest teachers I've ever had. She's very young, not a day over twenty-six, with a slim figure that stands at five-seven. She wears faded and frayed acid wash jeans constantly covered in paint and marker, with a white flannel shirt and no shoes. She's usually barefoot, with her long, wavy auburn/orange hair held up by chopsticks in a messy bun. Kitty's lips were often stained red by Cherry Cordial, and she'd often have random paint on her. A blue on her elbow, a red on her cheek, Kitty always had paint on her. Her name is actually Katherine Taylor, but _everyone_ calls her Kitty. She hates being called anything else.

"Hey, Kitty." I grinned back at her, taking a seat by the window near the back. Not that many people chose art as an elective, so my class doesn't have as many students as my other classes.

Besides me, the only other students in this class are Red, Craig, Tweek, Heidi, Mercedes, and two of the goth kids, the tall one and the red one. I don't know their names, but a lot of people refer to them as Tall Goth and Red Goth. The only goth with a known name is the girl, Henrietta, and I've heard that's not even her real name.

"Okay, my little sunflowers," Kitty said, popping in another cherry cordial. "Today we're starting a new unit that might last us until the end of the year. It's as radical as painting, it's photography."

Photography. I've always loved taking pictures. There aren't many pictures including me; I'm usually on the other side of the lens, capturing a moment with the press of a button.

"I'm providing you each with a high quality camera that you can actually keep, and your first assignment." Kitty continued, holding up a camera. "You're first assignment is to photograph a friend."

Kitty started walking around, handing each student a camera. She set mine down on my desk, and I picked it up, admiring it.

"The reason you guys get to keep these is because the school was expecting loads more seniors to sign up for art," Kitty explained, sitting back down on her desk, cross-legged.

"You'll get many assignments, and there'll even be an art show in June including your best pictures." She rummaged through a box, taking out stacks of pictures. "These are pictures I took throughout the year. Look at them and see what makes a good picture."

Kitty handed the papers to the person closest to her (Craig, who grunted as he took one) and passed it down, took one, passed it down, until I got the last one. I looked down at it and my breathing momentarily stopped as I recognized the people in the photo.

It was Stan and Kyle. They were in an empty hallway, and for a second, you'd think they were just walking. But when you looked down, you saw that they were holding hands, they're fingers intertwined. They weren't facing the camera, but they were looking at eachother, and you could see their profiles. Stan had his lips pursed, like he was saying something, and his eyes were closed. Kyle was looking up at him (since he's shorter), with this little smiled on his face and this sort of glazed look on his eyes. He was looking at Stan like Stan was the most amazing thing in the world. I felt a tightening in my chest when I realized it was a look I recognized well, one that I've seen on Kyle's face everytime he would look at Stan.

"... angles or whatever, but just have fun with this." Kitty's voice broke through and I nearly jumped three feet in the air.

Everyone started talking all at once, a whole wave of voices rippling through my mind, but all I could concentrate on was that picture in front of me. It wasn't fair that something so beautiful and amazing had to be broken. Those two had a love that not even Nicholas Sparks could dream of writing.

I looked up in time to see the goth kids pointing their camera at me, Red Goth's finger pressing down on the button, the shutter clicking with an image of me imbedded in its memory.

Red Goth lowered it, both of them looking at me with the same blank expression on their face. Red flipped his over-grown red -streaked bangs out of his eyes, tugging on Tall Goth's sleeve. He whispered something to him, and they both looked away from me, plugging in earphones and drowning the rest of the world out.

**~.::.~**

"So the value of x is three." I explained to Clyde, who was sitting with us merely because he wanted help with math. I can't blame him; the poor guy found himself in a college-level math course and he's pretty dumb, being the jocky football guy and all.

"I sorta get it," Clyde drawled out, chewing on his eraser.

"Try doing number ten on your own, and I'll check it when you're done." I explained, suddendly aware of the growing look of irritation on Stan's face.

"Stan." I said, and he looked over at me. "What's wrong?"

"He's coming again." Stan hissed through his teeth, his eyes going back to look at no other but Kenny McCormick.

Kenny was actually here, after a week and a half long absense. He was wearing dark skinny jeans hanging low even though he was wearing a studded belt. He had multi-colored Vans on that oddly went well with his over-sized checkerboard zip-up, and the green and purple braided hippy string around his head. I caught the gold peace sign hanging off a frayed braided string around his neck, standing out over his Eatmewhileimhot t-shirt. Kenny was walking toward our table, sights set on Stan, who was shrinking away in his seat.

"Wendy?" Clyde said, and I jerked my head to look at him. "I finished."

"Oh, right." I nodded, looking down to his scrawled equations and answers just as Kenny sat down across from Stan.

"Stan, please just talk to me." I heard Kenny say, his voice pleading.

"Kenny, shuttup and leave me alone." Stan growled, his fist clenching around his cell phone.

"Please, come on." Kenny tried again. "Stan, I'm sorry, just forgive me, please."

I kept my head down, scanning over the problem, fixing the few mistakes lazily while trying to listen to the conversation.

"We're not even _friends_, McCormick." Stan was saying, and I heard Kenny sigh. "We don't even talk. Don't think apologzing to me will take back what you did to Kyle."

"I didn't _do_ anything to Kyle!" Kenny exclaimed, exasperated. "He was my fucking best friend, what happened wasn't my fault!"  
"Then why are you even apologizing?"

Kenny didn't say anything. He was playing with his fingers, looking down at his hands. "Because you loved him. And he died because of my stupid mistake and my stupid car. I... it.. I guess it _is_ my fault."

Stan sighed, mumbling something and getting up, shaking his head before walking away, leaving Kenny behind.

"Here," I said quickly, handing Clyde his papers. "You miscalculated a few things, but you got everything else right."

"Thanks?" Clyde replied, a confused look on his face as I thrusted the rest of his stuff towards him, shooing him off.

"Kenny." I moved to sit across from him, and he looked up from his lap at me. "Don't worry over Stan, I'm sure he'll come around."

Kenny stared off at the entrance to the cafeteria, chewing his lip, his eyes searching for what wasn't there. "I hope."

I didn't say anything, I just reached across the table to hold onto his fingers. It was the only comfort I could offer, but he took it, still searching for what wasn't there.

**~.::.~**

_Wendy, Dad and I went to visit some friends. We'll be back later tonight - Mom._

I read the note over twice, over every curve of the blue ink scribbled in perfect script, even a note without one grammatical error. I could picture my mother writing it, quickly scribbling something down and slapping it down on the counter before leaving the house with a flip of her long dark hair, not even glancing back.

I sighed, setting my backpack down on the couch and opening the fridge. I cringed at the all organic, all vegan food in there, opening the drawer where my parents kept all the lunch meat. They want me to become a vegan like they are, but decided that I still am growing and I need all the nutrients and what-not that come from meat and dairy products. It sucked having almost no normal or sugary food in the house, but I was constantly using money I earned from working at the Village Inn to buy junk food.

I found a tiny tub of butter on one of the bottom shelves and Wonder bread in the pantry, taking out the turkey slices. I love everything with butter, and I'm also very picky about what I eat. I spread the butter on the slices of bread, and then I put three slices of turkey on it before perfecting my sandwich. I quickly put everything away, then took a bite. I'm one of the only people I know who loves buttery turkey sandwiches.

The doorbell chimed before I could take another bite, and I set it down on the coffee table on the way to the door. I didn't bother looking through the peephole and just turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

"Hey, Wends." Stan smiled, walking in and shutting the door behind him.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked, following him over to the couch. I sat down beside him, picking up my sandwich and resuming my eating of it.

"Kenny talks to you right?" He sighed, leaning back to stare at the ceiling.

"Yeah, why?" I said through a stuffed mouth. That must've looked attractive.

"Look." He tossed me his phone and I caught it, looking at him quizzically. "Look how many missed alerts."

I pressed the center button and his phone came to life, the little screen reading '45 Missed Alerts'. My eyes widened, and I started looking through the alerts.

"They're all from Kenny." I commented, scrolling through all the texts and calls.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Stan grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, don't get mad at me." I shot him a look, giving him back his phone.

"I'm sorry." Stan sighed again. "I'm just... I'm depressed and I'm angry and..."

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Before I knew what was going on, his face was in his hands, his body shaking, and he was full-out sobbing. It wasn't the crying he did at the funeral, or that first night he told me that Kyle was gone. He was sobbing, with the shaky breaths and everything. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, offering him my shoulder to cry on.

"I-I'm sorry..." He said between breaths. "S-sometimes... I just... Fuck, I miss him so much."

"Me too." I nodded, pressing my lips together. "Me too."

We sat there for a few minutes until Stan calmed down. He rubbed his eyes, and I saw anger flash across his face when his phone went off. Stan ignored it, and got up quickly, pulling me to my feet. "We're going for a walk."

"Alright?" I said, and I quickly threw on a sweatshirt before following him out of my house, leaving behind a half-eaten turkey sandwich. I shut the door behind me, and we headed down the street, me just following him.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked, falling in step beside him.

"I don't know." Stan said, licking his lips. "Anywhere. Just anywhere."

We started walking towards Stark's Pond, and up ahead of me, I could see Bebe and Clyde walking hand in hand. Actually, there were a lot of people from our school out today. In the distance, I could see Craig's gang with some blonde kid I don't recognize, all of them trying to calm Tweek down, as usual. Cartman was with, get this, Tammy Warner, who was wearing an all-out outfit of hers, with a flowy tye-dye shirt and white mini-skirt, white go-go boots and a hippy string. That's _under_-dressed for Tammy, who's always wearing something wild and funky.

"Stan." We both turned at once.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Stan snarled.

Kenny walked up to us, and for a second, I'd think he was following us, but I realized we walked by his house.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Kenny demanded, his arms crossed.

"Because you won't fucking leave me alone!" Stan retorted, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Well if you fucking talked to me and let me apologize I would!" Kenny cried, his arms going up in exasperation.

"Kenny, we're not even friends." Stan glared at him. "If it wasn't for you and Kyle being friends, and me and Kyle dating, we wouldn't have even hung out."

Kenny's jaw set, and he shook his head.

"Did you ever think about the fact that maybe I do want to be your friend?" Kenny said quietly. "Do you even remember how _we_ were best friends in middle school and elementary school? Whatever happened to us, Stan?"

"We grew up." Stan stated.

"Wendy?" Kenny looked at me for a last resort. "We're friends, right?"

I bit my lip, staring at my feet, uncomfortable with the tension in the air. I shouldn't be here.

"I'm gonna go," I said while they were arguing. If they heard me, they didn't show it, so I just turned around and started running away from there.

I ran head-first into someone, knocking a cigarette out of their hands.  
"Slow down there." Tall Goth commented, taking out another cigarette.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, darting around him.

I knew exactly where I was going. I burst hopped the fence to the cemetary, dodging all the gravestones and heading for the mauseleum at the very end of the cemetary near the woods. I discovered this a few years ago because it was so old and unused, any remaining relatives of the bodies in there long-gone. It was sort of morbid, but one of my 'bomb shelters', as I called it. I had a 'bomb shelter' all over South Park, each one related to the severity of whatever drama happened or whatever upset me. The mauseleum was Bomb Shelter One, for small things like this.

I curled myself in a ball, trying to be as small as I was when I first discovered this place, resting my head on my knees. I took a few deep breaths, trying to relax.

_We're friends, right?_

The last time I heard those words, my whole world had fallen apart.

**Yay for over-due updates! I'm going to be uploading what Kitty looks like soon, so no worries. **

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**That's what the characters look like c:**


	3. Chapter 3

**Whoa. This is late, over-due, whatever you want to call it, but I have time to write now! Claps for getting in trouble :)**

**Anyways, let's continue. By the way, I'm sort of upset on the lack of reviews for this story. I got so many faves and shit for it, but no reviews, and it bothers me. Please review?**

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_So take these words_

_And sing out loud_

_Cuz everyone is forgiven now_

_Cuz tonight's the night the world begins again_

My favorite school subject is math. I don't like numbers or anything, but I like the fact that in math, x equals this and nothing else. It's always consistent in math. Math never throws you curveballs or leaves you hanging with nothing there. Math never leaves you breathless and teary-eyed. Math never steals your boyfriend or kills your best friend. Math never leaves you with 'what if's.

I think that's one of the reasons that I had been so quick on taking up the offer to work at Jupiter, a clothing boutique I had worked at from eigth grade up until sophmore year, sitting in my own little office doing all the accounting work. It had been nice, actually, just sitting there all day, solving problem after problem, making estimates and shipping costs, alone in that little room. That was probably my favorite job that I've ever worked.

Now, though, I work as a waitress at The Village Inn. From six to nine on Mondays and Wednesdays, and five to seven on Sundays, waiting tables, getting tips, dealing with the occasional asshole in my section. But my section always had on particular group of people that were _always_ there when I worked. The Goth kids always sat at the same table, ordered the same thing, paid the same tip, and I was always their waitress. But I was somewhat surprised when I showed up for work and they had their camera with them.

"Ugh, I don't understand why it's so freakin' necessary to carry that stupid camera with you everywhere we go." I heard Henrietta say as I neared their table. "I can_not_ believe you'd take such a comformist class with a bunch of Justin and Britney wannabes and a freaking new-age hippie as a teacher. She's as bad as Testaburger."

I stopped for a second, a hint of anger flooding through me. Henrietta has never liked, or anyone for that matter, but she almost hates me the most for reasons unknown. I don't dress like a 'Justin or Britney' wannabe, and I barely even try talking to them. But Henrietta has always had it out for me, for reasons unknown.

"Hello, my name is Wendy and I'll be your server today, can I get you anything?" I recited my lines just like always as I stood in front of their table in my usual uniform: dull yellow bell-bottom pants, white short-sleeved dress top, and a red vest with my name-tag slapped on it. Hair twisted into a messy bun held into place with chop-sticks, bright red lipstick, roller-skates. All part of the Village Inn attire.

"We know who you are." Henrietta snapped, rolling her eyes. "And you know what we want."

I ignored this. If I even had the _slightest_ 'fresh' attitude with a customer, I could kiss my job goodbye. "So that'll be four coffees, three black, one cream and three sugars? Can I get you anything else?"

"No." Red Goth actually had the decency to look at me when he spoke, unlike Henrietta. Red flipped his dyed red bangs out of his dark eyes, tugging on the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to cover his hands as Tall Goth showed him something on the camera. The smallest Goth, whom I only know as Kindergoth though he's obviously well past Kindergarten and in eighth grade, stared at me as I pushed open the doors to the kitchen, his icy glare boring into me when I returned with their order, trying my best to manuever the cart I was pushing while trying not to fall on my ass because of the skates.

"Here you go," I said cheerfully, putting out the coffees to the designated person. Red Goth, Tall Goth, and Henrietta: Black. Kingergoth: Black, three sugars, and cream. I had long ago memorized the order after an incident where I had accidentally gotten one black coffee and three blacks with sugar and cream, resulting in almost getting fired after a bitch-out from Henrietta about how my 'stupid comformist mind was too busy worrying about the friggin' Hills to get their damn order correct'. Since then, I've made sure not to go down that road again.

"You can quit the whole cheerful façade already, Testaburger. Why don't you go worry about your own depression that try and paste this fake-happiness on us, you Miley wannabe." Tall Goth spoke up, his dark eyes boring into mine as he stirred his coffee.

My breath caught in my throat, and I wet my lips with my tongue. My whole body almost froze, and I felt my eyes sting, but I didn't cry. I don't cry, but... _you're right_. I always hid what I felt, what I thought, behind fake happiness and big blue eyes. Behind dark hair and pink lipstick, hiding behind the camera instead of forcing a smile for it.

I forced a smile, quickly skating out away, but before I knew it, I tripped over my own foot and Super-Man'd onto the floor, my face colliding with the hard wood. I gasped for the air my lungs lost, ignoring the laughs around me as my cheeks burned. I quickly un-did my skates, taking them off, and pushing past the crowd of people into the Employee Lounge. I basically flung myself onto the sofa, sitting with my face in my hands and just sitting there. Not crying, not screaming, just sitting there, my fall, his words, everything just replaying in my head.

I had to get out of there. I didn't know where I was going as I tied the laces to my converse or put of my parka, I didn't know where I was going when I heard Camden telling the boss about my fall, I didn't know where I was going until I was half-way down the street to DEFCON (bomb shelter) number 3, until something stopped me.

Bebe. Ex-best friend Bebe, with the curly blonde hair and the big brown eyes Bebe. She was smoking a cigarette, which I know she only does under a ton of stress, and she was headed in the same direction as I was. To DEFCON 3. Bebe and I had been the ones to discover and number all the DEFCONs for when we were children, but I was shocked, convinced that I'm the only one who used them. I continued on my way, deciding to be a fucking cheetah and whip-lash her as I marched ahead quickly to the abandoned old boat-house at the other side of Stark's Pond. I threw open the doors, heading upstairs to the bedrooms, a child's bedroom that was well-outdated, still furnished with dusty old furniture from the early 1940's. I layed down in the bed, not caring about the possible bed-bugs or whatever, I mean, the house is still looked after, just not lived in.

I heard the front door slam, and the click-clack of high heels going up the stairs. I ignored it, thinking about the fact that I made a total idiot of myself in front of everyone, and if front of the Goth kids, who still have a picture of me on their camera. Was there a reason or were they just taking random shots and took one of me? Or is there a motive behind it?

"Wendy."

For some reason, the sound of _Bebe_'s voice saying my name sounded extremely too foreign, the way it rolled off her tongue it almost sounded as if she was saying 'shit' or 'anal discharge'. As in, she sounded utterly fucking disgusted to even address me. I looked towards the door to see her standing there, longe blonde curls splayed out and deep red lips pursed. Her hands were on her hips, and I had to do a double-take mentally to see that she was wearing a tank-top with a mini-skirt when it's below 40 degrees outside.

"Bebe." I said, briefly flashing one of my famous tight-lipped forced smiles.

"What are you doing here?" She replied, and even with my shit eyesight I could see that her mascara was starting to run a bit and that she had been crying.

"Sulking." I replied nonchalantly. Talk about awkward, our first conversation in years. "What are _you_ doing here?"

She rolled her eyes, mumbling something before speaking. "It's DEFCON number 3, I'm having a motherfucking tea party. What do you _**THINK**_ I'm doing here!"

I didn't say anything, but right before me, Miss It Girl, South Park's teen model and pride, Home-coming and prom queen since freshman year Bebe Stevens broke down. Her face was in her hands and she was crying, you know, full-blown no-chance-of-her-makeup-surviving crying. With sobs and shaking and the whole deal. She looked up at me for a second, her big brown eyes filled with tears, and I moved over on the bed, patting the space next to me.

"C'mere Chief." I said, the nickname I used to call her, and surprisingly, she walked to the bed and sat down, burying her face in my shoulder.

I put my arm around her, and sat there in silence until she started speaking. When Bebe Stevens is crying, it's _her_ time to shine, and unless you want your neck snapped, you better not interrupt her.

"I just can't fucking believe that bitch would do something like that. She tried to fucking pull a fast one on me!" Bebe blubbered, but her pretty little voice was filled with venom. "Yeah, okay, you're fucking cool, stealing my boyfriend you little rotten asshole cunt-faced bitch. Like that's gonna make you fucking cool, whore. No one fucking likes you and we were going to kick you off the cheerleading squad anyways, so don't act all surprised and fucking blow my boyfriend at my own fucking party! And no, fuck you, don't fucking run for Prom Queen because bitch, I'll fucking pop a glock in your mouth and make a brain slushy, you dumb whore."

Did I ever mention that Bebe has a very colorful vocabulary?

I listened as she vented about the whole situation going on with Annie Polk, supposedly one of Bebe's 'best friends' who totally did a one-eighty and stole Clyde from Bebe after she was kicked off the cheer squad. You know, usual high school girl drama that doesn't exist in my world.  
"You know what?" Bebe said, her voice angry. "Fuck. That. Bitch. She's going the fuck down, that frizzy-haired, tow-headed, ugly skank cunt licker fucking slut."

"You get her." I say, and Bebe looks up at me and smiles for a second.

"God... things were so much easier when Kyle was here." She whispers. "I mean, I know now that he's gay, and I wish I realized when he was still around. I mean, how could I think he was straight when he picked out all my clothes?" She laughs, gesturing to her outfit. Wow, so Kyle was her shopping buddy? "But... I don't know. He always knew what to say. Even when I didn't, you know? Yeah, don't answer that, of course you know, he was your best friend. God... Stan was the luckiest guy alive. To have Kyle in his life like that. It... makes me jealous. And Wendy, if you remember, I'm never jealous."

"Yeah, I remember." I smiled. "Like the time my mom got me the newest Barbie and you ripped her head off."  
Bebe laughed, brushing her blonde curls out of her face. "Yeah, sorry about that. Well, not really. I always had to have the best Barbies."

And it went on like that for what seemed like ages. Us just talking. About when we were kids, about Kyle, about prom. Just about whatever came up. Until, that is, her phone rang.

She looked down, and her face wrinkled in disgust. "Ugh. It's Clyde. 'Hey baby, can you meet me at Harbucks? I wanna talk'. Fuck you."

She typed back a quick reply before stuffing her phone in her purse. "I gotta run. Thanks, though, Wends."  
And then she hugged me, before getting up and leaving, tossing one last smile at me.

**Sorry for the shit chapter. I just wanted to update. Though I don't think I'll update again if I get a million faves but no reviews! Please review? Even constructive critisicm would help.**

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